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User talk:Lady Howl
Heya, This is a bit of the random story you told me to write :) Taking a sip from her cup of tea, Kat leaned back in her chair and heaved a sigh. No matter how many times has she and everyone else gone through the same routine in the Fields of Justice, nothing ever changed. Nothing new was discovered and no conflicts were resolved. Wasn't the League established as a means of resolving any conflict without unnecessary bloodshed? "Hah" She couldn't help but let out a curt laugh. They got part of it right - there was no bloodshed. Well, actually, plenty of it, but at the end of the day, it was like none of it ever happened. Similarly, there were no solutions. Was this really for the sake for the realm, or was there somebody somewhere, lurking in the shadows, reaping a steady profit from their everyday blood and sweat? Driving her free hand across her body, Katarina couldn't help but fell really, really weary, like all the wounds from all the battles had finally started to add up. Like she was getting old while still being in her twenties "What the hell is that" She whispered quietly, her eyes trailing off somewhere. At least in real battles, death was followed by result, thus making it a sacrifice, not a vain show of one man's cruelty to another. Personally, she found no fun in massacring defenseless supports like Sona or Soraka, but it was never her will - it was a merciless point-and-click coming from above, which she had to follow with the clang of her equally merciless blades. How about the pained pre-death words of one of her sworn enemies, Jarvan IV? I... must... not... fail... What were these words meant for? His people? The summoner? Himself? Demacia? What was it that made him move forward? She couldn't bear these thoughts storming down upon her, so unfit for an assassin such as herself. The League has made everything complicated. Politics brought into warfare, staining the pure flow of blood with a dirty, yet invisible color. Then, as if snapping back to reality, she heard the sound of footsteps behind her. She didn't need to turn around to confirm who it was - the unsteady, irregular pattern could only belong to one man - Jericho Swain, the Grand General of Noxus, the embodiment of everything her home city-state stood for. (Feirund (talk) 19:58, July 3, 2013 (UTC)Feirund) Not long after that, she heard his somewhat hoarse voice behind her and closed her eyes, knowing exactly what he'd say. "A Noxian does not dawdle." Swain exclaimed, obviously objecting against her peaceful tea-time. Coming from somebody else, she'd have assumed the person to be joking, needlessly repeating their own catchphrase to lighten the mood, but she knew that Swain never jokes - at least, not in real life. He had his own form of dark humor specifically for the Fields of Justice, but that was just another planned-out thing, a way to appeal to the summoners which were now the global currency. You had to be versatilely appealing, otherwise you'll end up somewhere in the shadows, gathering dust and waiting for something to change. She's had periods like that too, so did Swain, probably even more so. But that didn't matter now. "What's there to do, anyway?" Standing up, she allowed herself to be a bit disobedient. "Nothing ever happens anymore anyway." "It's to our advantage." Swain replied, then appearing before her. His raven, Beatrice or whatever, was situated on his shoulder, her wings and beak seemingly glistening with an unnatural red. "After the few unfortunate setbacks, it's only wise to wait and replenish our strength." Katarina didn't even know what he was talking anymore. Ionia? Kalamanda? Setbacks? Sounded like old history facts you're non too eager to cram into your head. "Despite being a warrior." Swain spoke, his mouth covered by that mysterious piece of cloth. "You've shown surprising... flexibility in diplomatic matters. Though whether that was planned and intentional still... remains to be seen." Without so much as a clue to what he was talking about, Katarina could only watch the Grand General in silence. As if replying to her questioning gaze, Swain took something from his inner pocket - a piece of expensive paper - and put it on the table in front of her, next to her cup of already-cold tea. "You are to deliver this to Jarvan III, the King of Demacia." He said indifferently, as if he was sending her on a casual patrol. "No doubt they'll try to keep you from coming into direct contact with him - as they should. However, I would appreciate if you at least didn't settle for some random secretary of state. This is an important letter." Katarina couldn't bring herself to move just then - it all felt too sudden and... and also... suspicious? Despite knowing the man before her, she almost expected him to suddenly laugh and shrug it off as a prank. "Demacia is submerged in this... ridiculous joke of a peace." Swain continued, crossing his arms behind his back and starting to walk away. "There is no danger for your life." "I wouldn't be afraid of that!" She replied, her pride hurt by Swain's obviously handpicked words. "Indeed." Came his voice, though she could no longer feel his presence in the room. "You should instead hope for it." Hope for it? She looked back, into the empty entryway, trying to figure out the meaning of his words. "Would give us a chance to strike when they're weakest." The Grand General finished, as if to sate her curiosity. An eerie silence suddenly fell upon the room and Katarina sighed out loud, trying to dispel it. Whatever the General's intentions were, whatever he was scheming, he at least gave her something to do - something better than just sitting around and moping. For the first time in who knows how long, she was faced with the prospect of real danger - and real social interactions. Carefully picking up the sealed envelope, she hid it among her clothes and, quickly finishing her cold tea, left the silent room in a hurry. (Feirund (talk) 11:19, July 6, 2013 (UTC)Feirund) Though Noxus itself was a dark and imposing city, something many of its inhabitants didn't seem to mind (Katarina included), a brief walk away from it you could already see vast fields of agriculture stretching out as far as the eye could see - a resource as important for Noxus as if was for any other city-state. After all, the people within couldn't survive on smoke, flame and poison - most of them, at least. "Maybe sis would be okay with that stuff." Katarina said to herself, massaging her left shoulder. She sometimes wondered if Cassiopeia was truly okay with the curse cast upon her. She seemed to have adapted to it flawlessly, using her newfound powers to achieve her goals in ways that she previously couldn't have imagined. That sly, violent smile, complete with a forked tongue seemed to suit her just fine, much like the lower part of her body. However, Cass was always one for pretty dresses, perfume and womanly charms - and Katarina could almost swear that she missed those things sometimes, no matter how mysterious and powerful she was trying to appear. In the end, it served to affirm her humanity, whatever her shape now was. Some man, coming back from his work in the fields, bowed deeply to her and she blinked, unsure how to respond. Normally, she would simply ignore such displays of respect, but for some reason, right now she felt strangely vulnerable to the man's slumped figure and worn-out body. Noxus expected the utmost from everyone, even the lowliest farmer, like the man she was now pasing by - it was no wonder that most ended up looking like that, far from the "epitome of beauty" that many artists considered humanity to be. How many times was she asked to pose for this guy or another in his attempt to capture the vivid essence of femininity? "Good evening" She spoke, trying to brush away these strange thoughts. "Ah... g-good evening, milady!" The commoner lifted his head with obvious surprise. It looked like these two words brought him all the euphoria in the world. And so her journey continued as Katarina ended up regretting more and more that she had no companion to share her thoughts with, for they were becoming quite unbearable. After all, boredom, such as the one introduced by the Institute of War. Give an assasin the time to contemplate the meaning of life and this is what happens. In order to protect herself from unnecessary thoughts, Katarina tried to do everything as quickly as possible - in the blink of an eye, she was done with the campfire and lay down on the ground next to it, her silky, flowing hair spreading out across the bare ground. She wondered why Swain didn't assign an escort of soldiers for her, like he would usually do, but quickly decided to shelve this question away somewhere - the man always had a reason for everything. Still a way from the lair of their natural enemies, Katarina could do naught but stare at the stars, her arms crossed under her head, and think about this and that, but more than anything, about this one guy that she secretly hoped to meet among those tall, imposing walls of Demacia. (Feirund (talk) 12:07, July 6, 2013 (UTC)Feirund) Heya. Hope you didn't expect too much from my 'story', I was just writing what came to mind. Will gladly continue if you don't mind though :) As for a picture to give you ideas, how about this? http://i50.tinypic.com/11burkh.jpg Have fun :) (Feirund (talk) 14:27, July 13, 2013 (UTC)Feirund) Meanwhile, back in Noxus, Swain was chilling back in his arm-chair, gazing out into the whole of the city below his feet. It was a rare moment of having nothing to do - at least no work, no politics, no scheming - that he didn't even bother thinking about what he could've used this miraculous opportunity for. The man had no hobbies, no free time activities, nothing to pursue other than upholding the city's ideals that were so strongly burned into his heart. True, at some point in the past he had a passing interest - and, if others were to be trusted, an excellent mind for art and music, but ever since having become the Grand General, he had so little time to pursue these interests that they were now shelved indefinitely. Until the world would turn around completely. However, as an admirer of good art, Swain couldn't help but be once again captivated by the sight of the sprawling city beneath him. The constant motion, the flow of life, the green light, coming from so many sources all at once, the distant sounds of the bustling market streets, the chants of the priests on the other side that only a few could understand - himself included - it was all like the best work of art - alive and moving - that humanity could offer at this point. Surely, with his guidance, Noxus would keep on improving, gaining more beautiful colors and sounds, to a point when even Swain, his overseer, wouldn't be able to contain his joy. But this brief glimpse into his utopian future was interrupted by the unmistakable feeling of somebody else's presence drawing near, however inaudible and invisible it was. For just a few seconds, Swain entertained the idea of it being an assassin, sent by one of his numerous enemies, since he expicitly forbade anyone from coming in without following the proper procedures, but soon he sighed and slumped back in his chair. Even though in Noxus somebody always wanted somebody dead, under the current circumstances, very few inside the city would've actually benefitted from his death - he made sure of it by carefully pulling all the strings that he had available, until no one in Noxus retained any semblance of free will. The thought of it being an assassin from somewhere else was also ridiculous - no one, except maybe Zaunites, would've been able to penetrate the tight and ever-vigilant defenses of the Noxian high command headquarters. For a brief moment, Swain recalled Luxanna's infiltration some time ago and frowned in discontent. Those were truly dark days for Noxus, largely because he was almost completely removed from power. Then his thoughts drifted back to this yet-unidentified intruder. "It isn't often that I don't know what reasons push somebody to do something within these walls." A soft, teasing voice murmured behind him. Or was it to the side? "But right now, I'm completely clueless... And all the more curious as a result." If Swain would've been one of those who feel the need to show their emotions, he would now sighed. Instead, he looked around briefly, but quickly gave up, realizing that the intruder doesn't wish to reveal herself. "One in your position shouldn't have any time for such emotions." He replied indifferently. "Or were you paraphrasing... Evaine." One can never resist fighting fire with fire, it seems. The silence behind him suddenly became serious, whatever that was supposed to mean. "You know I don't call myself by that name anymore." Said Emilia LeBlanc, head of the Black Rose society, of which he used to be a member. "It's a beautiful name." Swain said, closing his eyes. Beatrice, motionless up to now, squawked and gently pecked at his ear as if trying to cheer him up. "I see no reason why you shouldn't use it." "I thought we had an agreement." "We did." Swain replied. "I'm sorry." The silence loosened up almost immediately. He felt its owner drawing closer. "So..." LeBlanc whispered to his ear, much to the protest of his lifetime companion. "What's this about sending poor Du Couteau away on a diplomatic mission?" For a while, Swain contemplated his answer, however, he quickly realized that no one, even his presumable allies have a need to know everything. "I'm merely providing her with a distraction." He said, crossing his fingers. "Too much time doing nothing has dampened her spirits." "Uhuhu..." A teasing laughter echoed. "How thoughtful of you, General. Always considering the needs of your pawns." "My respite's over." Swain said, grabbing his armchair's handles and standing up. "I must now tend to the city." "Good luck." LeBlanc's voice trailed off and when he picked up his crutch and turned around, there was no one left in the room besides him and Beatrice. Gently stroking the bird's neck with one finger, he started making his way to the door, his face once again locked in a frown. (Feirund (talk) 15:27, July 13, 2013 (UTC)Feirund)